Well not quite, but in a few days, when we “celebrate” when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, my nuggets are inexplicably turning two. I am just trying it out now, as I am currently that mom who says my children are “twenty-three months” to the many Hannaford shoppers who inquire. I used to think that was just being overly precious. Now, I understand it is a kind of denial. So, in celebration of the last dear days I can count their lives in months, I am reflecting on some of the many, many things I have learned in what has turned out to be the best, hardest and fastest two years ever.
Comparing yourself to other mothers makes the gut-retching comparisons of your twelve-year-old self to your peers seem pleasant.
The general public’s fascination with twins doesn’t dissipate as the twins age, as I had suspected.
Being constantly surrounded by small people can still feel lonely.
The “pitter patter” of four little feet sounds more like an elephant stampede than you imagined, and more wonderful than you hoped.
Naps are victories, quiet showers are celebrations.
Inside jokes and stories about your children with your husband are the sweetest ones you’ve ever had.
I can be surprisingly patient in a grocery store meltdown. I am surprisingly inpatient at a similar moment at 3 a.m.
The realization that these beautiful faces are here because of us never loses its awe.
I am torn with struggling with the new age, while being excited for their future. I suspect this is a feeling I will have every October to come.
I am happy to be “that mom” counting my children’s’ lives by even days, because each one has been so sweet.